


Protectorate

by arancar_no_6



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Agent Carolina & Agent Washington are Siblings, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, M/M, Meanwhile Carolina gives Maine Her Blessing to Bang Her Little Brother, Pre-Relationship, Short & Sweet, Wash Would Be Horrified If He Knew, York the Protective Pseudo Big Brother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 06:10:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21131957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arancar_no_6/pseuds/arancar_no_6
Summary: Carolina isn't particularly worried about Wash. She has no reason to be when he's in such good hands.





	Protectorate

“Don't you every worry about him?”

Carolina took a moment to lay York on his ass across the padded floors before she considered his question. F.L.I.S.S. updated their current spar score as she frowned, tucking a wayward lock of hair out of her immediate sight. “Worry about who?”

“About Wash,” the brunet groaned pathetically and shook his aching body out, reluctantly shifting back into a ready stance. Carolina smoothly reciprocated, waiting for the A.I.'s go ahead for the next round start.

“Why should I worry about him?” She didn't mean it as a cold dismissal; it was true. She hasn't really worried over him since they were toddling children and her brother was even tinier, running hot on her heels at every turn.

With a scant four years between them she got used to keeping him within her sights, holding his grubby little hand in hers as he tripped all over himself, his huge eyes riveted onto her every move as they got up to no good. Wash used to run into everything and anything, a perpetual scatter of colorful cat bandages sealing scrapes and cuts all over his little legs and arms. She's pretty sure he still has the twin scars on his knees from the time he ate pavement just outside their childhood home in the middle of a particularly heated game of blind hen.

They didn't exactly grow apart as adolescence came upon them. It just kind of... happened. They both signed up for service and just so happened to lead differing careers within the UNSC. Communication outside of your own unit was a luxury not everyone could indulge in, so when messages began to dwindle from her brother serving planet side, Carolina accepted it as an inevitability of active military life. It is what it is.

It was a pleasant surprise really to discover that the newest recruit was the same little boy of her childhood, although Carolina guessed the Director might have had a direct hand in Wash's transfer. Her brother had merely rolled his eyes at her unspoken suspicion of nepotism; as if Dr. Leonard Church would lower himself to such base affections, even for his own flesh and blood.

Wash earned his spot fair and square. He didn't quite bring a specialized skill like the other Freelancers but he was capable in his own way, easily sliding in to perfectly support each agent as necessary. It helped that Wash has always been an aggressive extrovert, stubbornly shoving himself into people's hearts and good graces whether they like it or not.

So no, Carolina isn't particularly worried about her brother.

Less than five seconds were all it took for her to hurl her sparring partner across the room again with a screech, F.L.I.S.S. finally calling the match in favor of Carolina. She can't quite help the grin on her face as she offers York a hand up, both agents making their way back out into the locker rooms.

“You really don't worry about him?”

“York, why would I worry about him? He's an adult, he can handle himself.” The redhead spun her combination into her locker, making quick work of shedding the light layers of armor and protection she'd strapped on before hitting the floor. Unnecessary really, considering she's at the top of the leader board and still staunchly undefeated. She could see York shrug from the corner of her eye, fiddling with his own combination. “I mean, he is the youngest out of the bunch isn't he?”

Carolina took a moment to stare at him questioningly. “He's twenty-four.”

York snorted, stripping a section of protective padding from his shoulders, “I literally saw him drink milk from a curly straw for dinner tonight.” That got a chuckle from her, shaking her head fondly at the thought of her brother's childish behavior, “I didn't say he was a mature twenty-four year old.”

“Okay yeah,” York's laughter sobered quickly, “but for real. I mean he's... hanging out with Maine an awful lot lately.”

_Oh._

“Oh come on!” he cried out at the obvious displeasure written on her face, “can you blame me? How many times has Maine put his own field partners out of commission? The man has fists the size of bricks!” Carolina only hummed nonsensically, stashing the last of her equipment away and reaching for her stack of civilian wear as she let York flounder in her silence a few minutes longer.

York isn't wrong. Maine was the most impulsive and dangerous among them, shaped by his years as a Spartan. He was uncooperative, borderline non-verbal, and his body language virtually _screamed_ danger everywhere he went. There was a reason 479er was always specifically assigned as their pilot, as she was one of the very few aboard the Mother who adamantly refused to be intimidated by the team heavy. Carolina wasn't particularly afraid of him, but she did learn to be wary of his volatile moods.

Washington didn't seem to have those inhibitions in any way.

Her brother had immediately latched onto the Spartan's side, chattering away in that manner that was so uniquely him. She hadn't missed the sight of South cringing the first time Wash was introduced only half a year ago, the entirety of the Freelancers leery and ready to interfere should Maine lash out.

He didn't.

He looked begrudgingly amused, a little overwhelmed by his enthusiasm, but Maine had ultimately said nothing. He let Wash follow him around in the subsequent weeks, occasionally grunting in his general direction and Wash seemed to absolutely soak up his company. Maine's leniency with him seemed to pay off. Their wordless communication made them a striking pair on the field and the Director favored sending them packing together on drops. Their partnership simply thrived from that point onward.

She knew Wash liked Maine. A lot. She'd commented on it only a few weeks ago while they took a water break from running through a round of simulations together. She was nice enough to wait for him to finish swallowing before bumping into his shoulder to catch his attention.

“How's the big guy doing?” Carolina didn't miss how her brother's face burst into color across his freckled cheeks and the manner in which he tried to tuck his face behind his drink tumbler. “He's fine,” he murmured, finding the far wall incredibly interesting. Carolina couldn't help but poke at him some more.

“_Fine_ huh.”

“_N-not like that_!!” Wash erupted into a mess of sputtering and flushed flailing. Carolina had only laughed at his reaction and dropped the matter, urging their return to finish their simulations for the day.

So yeah, she knew that Wash liked Maine.

She was pretty sure that Maine liked him back.

“He's fine,” she shuts her locker with a firm click. “Maine wouldn't hurt a hair on him.” York still looked dubious, brow furrowed in concern and a protest on the tip of his tongue. “York, if it was an issue, Maine would have said or done something by this point. He hasn't; it's been six months. Isn't it better that we finally have someone who can tolerate working with him?”

“I guess?” the brunet sighed, ducking his head through his own change of clothes.

“It is,” Carolina's tone firmly brought the conversation to an end and she walked around York towards the exit. “Goodnight, York.” She didn't wait to hear his reply back before turning towards the elevators leading to the Freelancer residential floor.

The hours she spent sparring finally set in, her limbs heavy and body quickly chilling as she trudged to her quarters. The floor was silent, all other agents having turned in for the night and lights dimmed courtesy of F.L.I.S.S. in accordance with the ship's night cycle.

She was exhausted enough that she nearly missed the low blue glow emanating from the furthest corner of the lounge. She stopped long enough to look in, her tired eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness. Carolina could see the bare outline of two bodies laid out along the length of the largest of the couches, specifically the L couch pressed to the farthest wall.

The soft light came from a data pad, playing on the lowest volume and propped up on her brother's curled knees as he laid against Maine, limbs loosely wrapped around one another.

They looked ready for bed, stripped down to civvies and blinking sluggishly at the screen. Wash let out a deep yawn, briefly lifting the pad so he could stretch against the older man's body. He nuzzled his face briefly against Maine's and settled, his head cushioned by one strong bicep. Maine didn't react much other than a deep, rumbling sigh. His free hand came to land on the blond's exposed knee, drawing idle circles around one of the faded scars there.

A quiet sense of warmth flared in her chest at the sight.

Carolina took care to inch back as to not disturb the couple, a tiny and very pleased smile gracing her lips as she finally headed over to her room to turn in for the night.

No, she wasn't worried about her brother at all. He was in good hands.

**Author's Note:**

> I am weak for carwash siblings, and the idea of Maine high-key giving himself the shovel talk before Carolina could is hilarious to me. He lives and drinks "I've only known Wash for a day and a half but if anything happened to him I would kill everyone in this ship and then myself" juice for breakfast.


End file.
